


Short Stories

by salvadore



Category: American Actor RPF, Social Network (2010) RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Prompt Fic, Short fic collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:52:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/pseuds/salvadore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3 short fics written and posted to my tumblrlog in 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kill Me Now, Kill Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> For wardowedidit's prompt: _#14, thigh kisses_ when I was doing the kiss meme. Set during Jesse’s NYSM facial hair phase and Andrew’s coinciding beard fiasco circa 2012 (at the time, no one knew it would/could/has gotten worse).
> 
> Originally written as five sentence fic, though it's been edited for posting.

Andrew wakes up with his head on Jesse’s stomach. There’s the pounding in his head of a hangover and the faint ache of exercised muscles coupled with the rubbed-raw feeling along the softer-skin of his inner thighs, which he can only be attributed to Jesse’s officially mandated, shaving hiatus. It looks good, even from Andrew’s angle, shifting around so his head is pillowed near-ish Jesse’s morning wood, on muscles that didn’t used to be, where Andrew remembers Jesse being bony.

Maybe Andrew has rubbed off on him, Andrew thinks, propping himself up to villainously run his fingers over his own beard, the not-officially-mandated-mess which Andrew is proud of. Which Jesse had laughed in the face of in his quiet way, breaking in the middle of an exhausted rage at Andrew showing up out of the blue, just to do so. Jesse lighting up the way he used to, the way that makes Andrew’s stomach flip-flop still. Maybe, Andrew thinks, pushing thoughts of their late night fight turned booty-call (can it be a booty-call if it’s part of a relationship no one called off, his brain wonders unhelpfully, since they stopped naturally due to truly ridiculous, extenuating circumstances - those being, becoming rich and famous over night), and Andrew thinks, mischievously, that he ought to be rubbing off on Jesse _literally_.

He peppers kisses along the curves of Jesse’s hips, alternating gentle before rubbing his beard purposefully along each spot, trapping Jesse’s legs beneath him as he lies on Jesse’s very-nice thighs to kiss and rub his beard along one-side to the other. Jesse and his cock come awake slowly under Andrew, Jesse murmuring a groggy, “Andrew?” like he is almost doesn’t believe he’s there. The sound turns into an exasperated, if fond, groan when Andrew uses his chin to press against Jesse’s belly, saying, “Good morning, sunshine,” making sure Jesse feels every consonant.


	2. If Only I Had Some Liquid Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts AU meet-cute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for sceptick's _Hogwart's AU_ prompt. Also intended to be five-sentence fic, but by god, this got out of hand.

Jesse Adam Summerbee Eisenberg is many things; he is a collector of magical maps, (formerly) a cat-fostering New-York-living _almost-_ forty wizard,  and, allegedly, a descendant of _the_ Felix Summerbee, inventor of the Cheering Charm - though the last he only has at his mother’s word and she said a great many things. Such as, saying she would stop hosting his birthday parties in her clown costume, and Jesse remembers how that worked out. And now, anyway, Jesse is also an accidental teacher on lend to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry because, somewhere along the way, he’d made a name for himself as a charms master and Hogwarts was sorely in need of one.  
  
"I’m so glad our sister school in New York could lend you, Professor Eisenberg," Headmaster Longbottom was telling him as they walked through the candle lit halls of the castle. It was a huge change for Jesse, who was used to wearing muggle clothing and holding classes in a charmed community college building where he often had to charm cellphones to get his students to put them down. His favorite charm was one he’d invented, it made the phone sing aloud incoming text messages. He didn’t expect to be put on a Chocolate Frog card for it anytime soon.  
  
"Well with Professor Flitwick retiring, I couldn’t really decline," Jesse said, feeling formal in his one set of dress robes and surround by portraits of stuffy witches and wizards who had been whispering about his Reeboks since he entered the castle. Up ahead he saw a group of other professors huddled together and talking under the light of a bobbing candle. Overhead a poltergeist was throwing muffins at them and they bounced off what Jesse guessed was an invisible shield. Fascinated, Jesse watched as the shield, actually a patronus, turn into a hedgehog before disappearing altogether.  
  
"Professor Garfield," Headmaster Longbottom called toward the group; the man with the hedge hog patronus turned, smiling broadly as he literally bounded over to Jesse and the Headmaster, making Jesse question if he heard right and this wasn’t actually a student.  
  
"Professor Garfield. Or Andrew, when students aren’t around. Or are. I’m not so great at maintaining an air of authority on my own anyway," Professor Garfield, Andrew, said with his hand struck out to shake Jesse’s.  
  
"I’m the Herbology professor. And quidditch coach, _and_ the school’s first teacher of theater. Oh! And I’m Head of Hufflepuff House!” Garfield grinned,  pretending to wave a flag as he added, “Go Badgers!”  
  
"That’s a lot of hats," Jesse said, taking the proffered hand, meaning to shake it. But the way Andrew tipped his head back in a laugh had Jesse holding on longer than proper, blushing as Andrew kept holding on right back, obviously unperturbed by Jesse’s very sweaty palm.


	3. April Shudders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For kaikamahine's lovely three word prompt: Andrew/Jesse/Emma _thirteen, April, susurrus_.

It’s April and there’s a breeze making the blinds smack against the window - it’s the sound that wakes Jesse up first but the cold that keeps him awake, groaning and stretching his arms over his head one at a time so he can use the other hand to hold the blankets to his body. Jesse feels his way over his ribs and runs his fingers down his chest over his navel, touching his skin because it’s there and because it’s quiet in the apartment and he’s assuring himself that he’s there. The bruises are gone from when Emma sucked hickies into his collar-bones, the finger shaped ones having faded from his hips, and the large bruise spread over his thigh from where Andrew tried to pull him down onto the couch and they both missed and fell against Jesse’s coffee table - that one is gone too.  
  
He holds his breath, and the blinds clack; Jesse thinks about getting up and closing the window, and getting coffee or maybe crawling back under the covers for a few more hours, but his cellphone rings from the side table, offering him a third option.  
  
Emma’s on the line, and Jesse must be on speaker because he can hear the whirring of a grinder in the background. Andrew's making coffee because he’s the only one of the three that thinks grinding beans makes that much of a difference. It’s been thirteen weeks, and Emma is saying, “We have news, can you come over to ours for lunch?”

Jesse breathes, shuddering, and he physically feels the air make it’s way out of him because of the hand on his navel.


End file.
